Broken Arrows
by EverdeenEmbrace
Summary: Lust. Betrayal. Lies. Love. Death. New rules. As if being a teenage girl wasn't hard enough without these added problems. The Hunger Games are about to get a whole lot more interesting to watch. Rating may change.
1. Notes

-I own nothing of the Hunger Games. I wish I did, but I sadly don't and therefore have no Peeta to play with.

_Chapter 1. _

_Katniss. _

The sun's raising higher in the sky, peeking through the breaks in the trees and leaves to warm my skin. It's later in the day than I initially realized and there's a small part of me that thinks I should leave the sanctity of the woods and head home, but the larger part of me wishes to stay hidden in the greenery for all eternity. My body and heart want to stay laying in the soft, wild grass and just listen to the symphony of the birds singing in the canopy. My mind, however, keeps wandering back to just the other side of the fence where my small and rather pathetic looking house sits. Wanders to my little sister and what she's doing to entertain herself without my company.

Thoughts of my sister brings a small smile to my face. I can picture her now; wide smile splitting her face with exuberance, blond hair springing free from the braids trailing down to her back, beautiful blue eyes shining with childhood innocence, and – of course – hands either patting the matted fur of her mangy cat or busy with grinding herbs into medicine. Prim was so much like a contagion in her happiness that I could feel her influence even now, at least a mile or so into the dense forest.

"What's up with you?" asks Gale. He's peering at me sideways, half of his attention still cast into the woodlands surrounding us and hand curled tightly on the small knife he had concealed in his boot. Both were aspects of being a hunter, character traits that the pair of us shared.

I lazily look into his eyes, ash gray like mine, and shrug noncommittally. "What do you mean?"

Gale shifts so he's laying back with me, head resting on his arm, and mimics the movement of my shrug with his brawny shoulders. "You were scowling at the world just seconds ago and then you started smiling like a loon. So, my question is, what's going on in that head of yours?" he questions again. To any outsider, he would have appeared lighthearted in asking, but to my keen and sharp-witted eyes, I could see the underlying hardness in his mercurial depths. I could hear the slight desperation and worry in his deep rumble of a voice. What I couldn't decipher, was why these small things were present.

"Just thinking about Prim." I finally answer after a cool minute of silence. Well, as quiet as silence can get when sitting in a forest full of animals and wind-rustled leaves.

"Ah, the illustrious Primrose." he murmurs and there's a small, hidden smile lining his mouth as he shakes his head. Gale rarely smiles full blown grins, always opting for half-smiles and sideways glances. To some, he would seem cold and aloof, but I found him to be the best company in the world because he and I were so very alike. "What has she been up to? I haven't seen her much lately."

This pulls a frown to my face. I haven't really seen her all that much myself, but I had stopped asking anything of my mother years ago so I only assumed that Prim was out collecting plants and whatnot for their healing services. That isn't to say that my lack of sisterly bonding time is all on Prim's twelve year old shoulders. I've been just as busy, just as enthralled in my own life and business. "Don't know, really. I guess she's just doing mother dear's bidding." I say. I turn my head up to the sky, staring through the holes of the canopy and into what small bits of the clear, blue sky that lay beyond. It's warmer than yesterday and there aren't nearly as many puffy clouds littering the skyline. Spring was beginning to settle across the district and with it would come better hunting conditions and more food.

Gale doesn't say anything to my explanation and we lapse back into the sounds of the birds chirping and wind blowing along the chutes of grass and making the leaves dance. I drop back onto the bed of grass we're laying on, folding my hands behind my head and I close my eyes. The earthy smell of nature that can only come from the woods calms me more than any medication or herb my mother gives me when I can't sleep. Not that I would ever really consider coming all the way out here to nap or sleep through the night. That just doesn't seem logically sound.

I turn my thoughts back to the idea of Spring and what it means to me other than more game and more hunting. When I was little, I loved the feel of the soft breeze that always accompanied the term Spring. I would come out into the woods with my father and he would go over every detailed instruction of how to wield a bow and clean an animal after it's been caught in a snare or struck by an arrow. He would take me deep into the forest, off the worn path we used to always walk, and to the small lake and the concrete cabin nestled beside the water. On sunny days, when the mockingjays would perch on the branches of the trees that surrounded the lake, my father would sing to them, to me. The birds would instantly still and watch him, stop chattering amongst themselves and listen intently before picking up the song's tune and echoing it. It – he – always amazed me.

The spring just before I turned eleven was the last we spent together. He brought me out past the fence every single day no matter the weather's mood. That year he taught me to swim and tried to teach me how to make a bow from the wood of the tree trunks. I failed at every attempt, but he never gave up on trying to ingrain the instructions of how to whittle the wood and bend it to my will into my head. Swimming came rather easily, so he took upon himself the tedious task of teaching me various strokes in the water. I had a bit more trouble with those at first, but I improved and if put in a depth of water, I could cut across the glassy surface as though I had been born of the sea. My father used to tease me that one day I would be discovered, 'a mermaid among miners' he would call me and then he would say that I'd be taken from District 12 and fostered in District 4. Four is the seafaring district full of fisherman and their wives and it was bordered by the ocean. My father's teasing of sending me there should have terrified me, but the idea always excited me in some way.

The winter that followed that Summer, claimed more than just the vegetation of the woods. My father was always a hero in my eyes and in some morbid way, his death cemented that idea evermore. He was a miner as many people who lived in the poorer part of this meager district – the Seam – were and rather than dying off from old age, inhalation of coal dust, or starvation, he was blown to pieces along with his crew in the shafts of the coal mines. That same explosion took Gale's father's life as well. Another thing we have in common.

His death completely rocked mine and my family's world. We were not only emotionally lost, but Prim and I were starving skeletal beings that once were human and thriving. Our mother was worse than us when it came to the emotional devastation and after the ceremony where I was presented with my father's medal of honor was long over, after the month that was allotted to her for grieving was gone and past, she was still unreachable. I was eleven, months away from turning twelve and being eligible for submitting my name for the Capitol given tesserae. I had no idea what to do, how to live, and I certainly didn't know how to feed my sister.

Then it happened. Spring came back and promised life as the plants my father had told me were okay to eat began sprouting up in the meadow and animals crept out of hibernation. I took up hunting again, though I was thoroughly petrified of being alone in the trees with all kinds of unknown factors staring me down. It got a lot easier when Gale happened to find me in the woods on a hunt. We hit it off. Not immediately, but gradually we let our guards down and opened up to each other. Thus, our complex relationship unfolded.

Life was hard in those days leading up to finding Gale, following my father's death, but I wouldn't wish them away no matter what. They make up who I am more than the carefree experiences I shared with my father. I am a hunter, a provider. I am unemotional. I don't involve myself with the petty dramas that circulate around the school's rumor mill. I don't exist unless I am taking care of my sister or in the dense forest with Gale.

And, I'm okay with that.

"Can you believe it's already here? I'm dreading tomorrow." comments Gale, pulling me from my mental monologue. I want so badly to glare at him or maybe even hit him for bringing up what tomorrow is, but I can't find it in me to even open my eyes. "How many times are you entered?" he asks quietly and I can hear the desperation once again, hear the need in his voice – a need for me to lie.

"Twenty." I answer, truthfully. I don't lie. It isn't even that I just don't like the idea of withholding the truth, which I do, but I suck at it. There's always a tremor in my voice or my eyes look around or I'm just unconvincing. I tried lying to Gale once when I was thirteen and he was fourteen. We had been having a rough time bringing in food; the animals had grown scarce and the plants had dried up because there hadn't been any rain. Gale had stumbled across a berry bush and I took them from him while his back was turned, took them for Prim. He caught me and I denied it, but I had given up some feeble lie. I haven't lied to him since. "You?"

"Forty-two times."

My eyes snap open instantly. Forty-two. _Forty-two_. I knew he was the breadwinner for his family and had put his name in at least twice a year since he had turned twelve, but I never imagined that my best friend, the person who kept me grounded, would have such a high number. Such a high risk of being chosen. Of being reaped. "Tell me this is some kind of sick joke." I respond in a hollow voice.

I think I'm in shock or panicking. I can't be certain because I have no past experience to compare notes with, but I'm pretty sure this is what a panic attack feels like. I can hear my heartbeat thundering in my ears like distant echoes of drums. I can feel only a tingling numbness resonating in my hands, arms, feet, and legs. There's a hollow presence in my chest that reminds of the time I was under water for too long and thought that I wouldn't break the surface in time to catch my breath. Yes, this feels so very much like what I've imagined panic and chaos to feel like if it were in a cage.

"Why would I joke about this?" I vaguely hear Gale say. I pull myself up into a sitting position and force myself to turn to face him and I see my fear mirrored in the lines of his flesh, in the furrow of his dark eyebrows.

Why would he joke about the Reaping, the Hunger Games, of all things? Logically – realistically – I know he wouldn't dare. I know that he isn't. That he really does have forty-two slips of bleach white paper with his name printed on it in the lottery. The odds, as Effie Trinket would say, weren't in his favor.

"We should just run away from here and never look back. We know the forest so well, we could get pretty far. We could live a better life." exclaims Gale.

I stare at him as if he were crazy, and I'm honestly beginning to think that he is in at least one or two ways. "We would get caught, Gale, and the consequences would be worse than death. You know that, I know that. Don't be stupid." I counter and push off the ground, dusting my pants free of grass and dirt. I spin around and spot my bow leaning against a fallen over tree and move to grab it, slinging it and my quiver of arrows over my shoulder. "It's late, we should go." I say to Gale as I walk past him, into the greenery.

#THG#

As Gale and I walk through town, there's an icy and silent tension settling over us. We don't speak, or rather, I don't respond to anything he says. I don't know why I'm mad, why his words of running away shook me up so much and taunted the inner anger I so rarely felt. There was just something about his voice that lit a fuse nestled deep inside me. He spoke with such clear conviction and certainty of what our future in the woods held. He talked as though we didn't have siblings or mothers to care for, to feed.

Prim didn't take to being in the trees the way I did. She was no huntress, she wasn't meant for my life. How could Gale forget about that or them? How could he not think about how swiftly death would descend upon my baby sister or his own? Everything I do is all about ensuring their survival and taking them into the dark of the woods would counteract all of my life's actions. All of my father's.

Then again, there may be more to it than that. I could be angry with my best friend because he has intentions of stealing me away from the best part of my days. Taking away the only other real interaction with a person that I can keep up a two-sided conversation with.

It wasn't any secret that Gale had an aversion to most of the merchants and townspeople, but he had an unjustified hatred for the baker's son, Peeta Mellark. I wasn't foolish enough to not question his motives for disliking the boy, wasn't as blind as many people believed. I could see the hardness in Gale's eyes whenever he looked at Peeta, but it was more than mere hard eyes. There was jealousy hidden behind that masked indifference, he felt threatened by Peeta.

At school rumors flew around that Gale and I were a couple. We were always together, so it wasn't much of a stretch for the imagination and the idea had honestly crossed my mind a few times to overstep our friendship boundaries, but I didn't think it would feel right. Along with the gossip of our unfounded love, there were the whispers of Gale's unfaithfulness to me. I knew what he did every week. Knew that he was, in fact, a teenage boy with needs and that he wouldn't wait around for me to return his not so hidden feelings. He did what every guy in the school wanted to do and took girls out by the slag heap to do intimate things that I could barely even dream about.

Gale once asked me if I was aware that Peeta had feelings for me. I told him I didn't think that was plausible, given that he's one of the more attractive boys in the whole school and could therefore have his pick. I don't consider what I said as a lie. I didn't notice it at the time, but after Gale brought it to my attention, it became painstakingly obvious that the baker's son did like me in a romantic way. I think Gale caught on that I began taking notice of Peeta a bit more because he seemed to hover closely to me whenever we would go to the back door of the bakery to trade. I suppose, in his demented mind, he was staking a claim.

That thought made me feel uneasy. I wasn't sure of my feelings for Peeta like I was sure I would never return Gale's interest. There was something the blond boy had that Gale didn't, a kindness in his baby blue eyes that I haven't ever seen light up Gale's slate orbs. Sure, Gale broke the law on a daily basis to keep food in his family's stomachs, but he hadn't risked getting swatted by his witch of a mother to help a Seam girl he barely knew.

I guarantee no one would understand when I say that I owe Peeta Mellark my life. If I told them how he had burnt bread and thrown it out to me knowing full well what would happen to him if he did, they would only hear that he gave me bread and burnt bread at that. No one would hear that he didn't just save mine and Prim's life by pulling us out of starvation but also gave me hope. Hope, such a rare thing to find in darkness, was bestowed on me by this boy's selfless actions. He let me know there were still good people in the world as he showed me the first dandelion of the new Spring.

I didn't talk to him much. Just when Gale and I traded our squirrels for bread and he happened to answer the door instead of his father. In the classes we shared in school, we didn't bother letting on that we even knew each other. There was an unspoken disgrace that came with merchant kids dating or fraternizing with Seam kids and vice versa. It was stupid and ridiculous in my mind, but it was the social way in District 12.

"You know," I hear Gale start saying and he stops walking to turn to me, but I try to brush past him only to be stopped by him grabbing my arm. "I didn't mean to upset you, Catnip. I was just suggesting an option, a way out." he says softly. I can still hear his resolve in his voice, but he's playing dirty by calling me his stupid though beloved nickname.

I won't buckle so easily. I will not give him the satisfaction of having won this debate. "Don't bother apologizing when you think you've done nothing wrong." I say and yank my arm out of his firm grasp. I don't wait for him to respond before setting back to walking toward the bakery. I know he's following by the barely perceptible footfalls that are trailing behind me.

"Katniss!" calls Gale. I ignore him again though and choose to keep trekking across the town square. I'm not usually so hostile in mine and Gale's fights, but I can't seem to shake the feeling that he had suggested running out of a more selfish reason than just offering an unorthodox form of salvation. "Katniss, wait up!" Gale yells again and this time it attracts looks of alarm and distaste from the few people milling about the town.

"What?" I yell back, whirling around to glare at him. "What do you want, Gale?"

"Will you please let me explain?" asks Gale. He comes to a stop just in front of me and his cheeks are slightly colored by the crisp wind, offsetting his naturally sooty looks.

"There isn't anything to explain. You're being an ass once again. Nothing new there, nothing I haven't come to expect. So, just let it go." There's a flash of something – hurt? – in his eyes as his ears pick up on the harsh tone of my voice and the look, however awful it may be, gives me a sense of delight. I want him to know exactly how angry I am and how hurt and all those other things I felt. I want him to feel just as bad and just as confused. "Now, I have a job to do and if you can't keep your opinions and ideas to yourself, leave." I snap and stare at him for a few icy moments, daring him to either leave or say something. He does neither and gestures for me to continue, which I do with a resigned roll of my eyes.

The time it takes to cross the square and come up the back of the bakery evaporates fast and suddenly I'm facing the back screen door and inhaling the heady scent of fresh bread. Part of me wants to dash away as I realize that among the voices filtering out of the open aired door, Bannock Mellark was not among them. I would have to face the broad shouldered, blond boy that sometimes starred in distant dreams. With Gale's morose company.

Oh, joy.

I have to pool all my courage into my fist in order to even manage knocking. Almost immediately all laughter and sounds of conversation cease and there's a scuttling of feet and I see the fair features of Peeta become distinctly clearer as he comes near the door.

A smile breaks on his lips as he opens the spring loaded door and stoppers it to keep it from snapping back before leaning against the door jamb. "I was wondering where you were. You're very late." he comments with a light, teasing voice.

He's right though, I am late. I usually stop by his house in early morning with game to trade, but since I chose to lie around in the sunlight it was more like late afternoon now. "Sorry, lost track of time." I respond, returning his smile as best I can with my muddled thoughts and feelings.

"You're here now, though. That's what matters."

He's flirting with me and I think I'm honestly flirting back with him. Suddenly, it's like my hearing is ultra sensitive because I can hear Gale shuffling his feet and sighing behind me. This could turn into a nightmare if I don't watch my step. "I am," I agree hesitantly, "but, given the lateness of the hour, I need to keep to my schedule and get over to the Hob before nightfall. So, let's get this over with, shall we?" I say and though I regret the severity of my voice, it has the desired effect and Peeta's carefree expression shifts to one of seriousness.

The blue of Peeta's eyes shift to look over my shoulder to where Gale stands and I don't miss the flicker of suspicion laced with contempt that passes through them. "Right. What do you have today?" he asks and moves to stand straight, pushing away from the jamb.

Pulling my game bag from my hip, I dig through the corpses of animals I've shot down earlier this morning and produce three squirrels. Peeta's father is one of the few people in Twelve that like my squirrels, always buys them. "Three." I answer and then drop them to the ground by Peeta's feet before opening a small compartment of my game bag to pull out a pack filled with strawberries.

"Well, that's a surprise." comments Peeta as he reaches out and grabs the pack from my hands. I try not to let it show, but a shiver runs through me as his rough, burned hand grazes my fingertips. "What brought this on?" he questions, pawing through the fresh berries.

"Just thought you could use them more than I could. Prim's allergic and I don't feel right when I bring home things she can't eat."

"Uh huh. Well, thank you. Wait here and I'll get your bread."

Peeta disappears and reappears in the doorway faster than I could have imagined. He hands me three loaves of bread, one and a half each for Gale and I, and with a mischievous smile he hands me a plastic wrapped package of at least a dozen cookies. I take one out of the wrapping and marvel at it's unique texture that feels so foreign in my hand. Before the tantalizing scent of sweet buttercream icing can fully captivate my senses, I shove the cookie back into the packaging and push the cookies down into a small bag that's hanging at my hip.

"Thank you, Peeta." I reply with a small smile. "These will drive Prim wild."

Peeta nods at my words and bends down to grab the squirrels and I watch as he sets them on a counter just inside the door. "I figured I should return the favor since you brought me something sweet." he responds with a smirk that looks quite attractive with his devilishly painted together looks. Maintaining his crooked smile, Peeta leans out from his place atop the stair and grabs for my hand. "Thank you." he murmurs and stares lingeringly into my eyes and I barely get a glimpse of the mischievous twinkle.

When he pulls back and once again vanishes through the doorway, I finally register the crinkled feeling of parchment in my hand. Frowning, I look down to my hands and pull the paper out, smoothing it enough to read. What I see, in elegantly printed script, makes my blood sound like waves in my ears and my heart feel like it's sprinting a race.

_If you can manage it, meet me in the meadow at midnight tonight. _

_P.S. _

_Don't bring your boyfriend. _

**#THG#**

So, I've had a few false starts on different stories, but I'm excited about this one the most. I have quite a plenty of twists and turns that will play out in this story.

Read and enjoy, read and review. Either is perfect with me.

~R.


	2. Chains

A/N:

I usually try not to put these at the top, but I had something to confess to you avid readers. . . I suck. I was so excited to write this story in alternating perspectives from Peeta and Katniss both, but I can't get into the frame of mind for a boy. Especially a boy like my Peeta. Eugh. I'm sorry that I'm such a fail, but I do promise to keep it non-monotonous as we both venture through the brackish thoughts of our troubled young lady.

Anyhoot, I really must say that this chapter is straight up crap. Well, at least the beginning is and possibly the ending too. I like the middle though. I tried to keep it cute though not overtly so, because our infamous couple have yet to get _there_, you know? I'm not a complete twit and therefore I will not be rushing their romance too much. I don't buy into love at first sight and all that, but I do believe that feelings hold some major sway over a person's reactions to well everything.

Oh and before I forget, I would like to thank every single person that reviewed. Your comments are what really keep this story alive, so muchos gracias.

Happy reading!

**#THG#**

Meet me at midnight. Midnight. Midnight. Midnight.

I kept turning the word – the time – over and over in my mind as I walked home from the Hob. Gale and I had just sold what was left of our game and the whole time I was so caught up in the questions that Peeta's note had planted in my mind. Questions like what was he thinking when he gave me that note? Why did he want to meet me? What would happen if I did go? What would he do if I didn't? All kinds of conundrums along those lines were polluting my brain and it was beginning to give me a headache.

More over, I was pondering the feelings that Peeta had incited inside me. I was anxious – which, all things considering, was a given – as well as suffering from an adrenaline rush. It seemed that the mere fact that Peeta Mellark was asking me to join him in the middle of the night in some sort of secret rendezvous was giving me chills of excitement. Then there was the deep seated confusion and embarrassment. I was confused as to why he wanted to meet me of all the girls he could choose from and embarrassed that he thought Gale was my boyfriend. Embarrassed that I let everyone spread those rumors of me and my closest friend, let them pervert what we are.

I was undecided on whether or not I would go through with it and meet up with the blond baker boy or not. Part of me was screaming to see this through, to see what he wanted. The opposite part of me that was warring with the former was chastising my mind for even playing with the thought of going to meet with a stranger in the dark of night with no one to see us. Peeta, I knew, wasn't dangerous unless someone wrestled with him. He came in second place in the so-called championships last year at school and he was only second because his older brother, Rye, beat him out. So, yes, I knew Peeta would not hurt me if I agreed and went to see him, but I was very leery over the idea. I didn't do such things as run off in the night. Or, I at least didn't do such things without serious thought.

Herein lies what really rattles the confines of my mind; should I go against my nature and meet this handsome boy like he's asked, or should I stick to my natural born instincts and stay home tonight?

And around and around my mind goes.

"..niss. Katniss. Katniss?" Gale's voice sounds like a distant echo as I finally pick up that he's trying to gain my attention. I turn towards him and raise my eyebrows in silent questioning to what he wants. "You okay? Where'd you go just now?" he asks, concern etched on his face as he rakes his eyes over me. It's a little unnerving, the feeling of Gale's piercing gray stare looking me over in such an intimate and intense fashion, but I try not to let it show.

Shaking my head, I answer with a small smile. "Nowhere important."

"That isn't really an answer." he presses.

"Gale, really, I was just thinking okay?" I reply tiredly. I really hate when Gale won't let something drop, especially when it's something about me or what I'm doing. I know I'm not the easiest person to read, but I've always thought that Gale could see through whatever emotions are or aren't displayed on my face and just know what was going on in my head. Then again, maybe I didn't want Gale to know what thoughts were circling around my mind like vultures on the hunt. "I just want to go home." I say while looking into his eyes, trying my hardest to convey that I didn't want to talk about this anymore and that I actually did want to get home.

Gale stares intently at my face for a minute and whatever it is he finds there appeases him because he nods his head and gestures for me to walk ahead. "Okay, but whatever it is that is that's bothering you, you know you can always come to me." he says as I brush past him and there's a ring of true sincerity in his deep voice.

I nod at him and whisper a polite thank you, but I don't stop walking. I do want to get home, to my sister. As young as she is, Prim always know what to say no matter the situation and no matter how I might react. Prim had a way of sifting through the problems before her with grace and care and she'd find the root of said problem and talk through it with me or with our mother. She was essentially a Peacekeeper with a pacifistic disposition. Though, I don't think I would ever let her actually become a Peacekeeper and I don't think Prim would ever consider such an awful career anyway. She was adamant about becoming a doctor or a nurse; anything in the realm of healing.

Minutes tick by as Gale and I walk across the dull and monotonous scenery of the Seam and before I know it, we're nearing both of our houses and saying goodbye to each other. We don't discuss it, but I know we'll both probably be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow with knotted nerves pushing us into the forest to waste away what little time there is before the Reaping. It's what we do every year.

Then again, every year before this I didn't possibly have plans of sneaking out in the middle of the night for who knows how long. So, there really was no telling if I'd make it to Gale in the morning or not.

As I walk through the front door of my house, my nose is immediately assaulted by first the fresh and clean scent of whatever medicinal herb my mother has ground up and then the tangy metallic scent of blood. It isn't uncommon to me as I have had my fair share of injuries over the years and my mother has had so many patients that come through here in terrible condition. I don't do well around blood though – something Prim teases me for because I cause a great deal of it in the animal world – so I'm usually not around when torn up people cross through our threshold.

I set my game bag down by the door and walk around into the kitchen and dining area which also serves as my mother's office of sorts. On the dining table there is a man sitting with a pained expression on his weathered face as my mother prods at a major burn on his calve. His leg is angry looking in different hues of red from blood and fire and the skin is split all the way down to the bone. The sight make me want to puke, but I grit my teeth and hold my breath to prevent anymore of the bloody stench to pervade my senses.

My mother looks up from her work at the sound of the rattled gasp of air I took before muting the airflow in my body. "Oh, Katniss!" she exclaims in a startled though excited voice. "Could you do me a favor and go find your sister? I'm going to need her assistance in this."

This catches me slightly by surprise. "Prim's not here?" I wonder aloud, receiving a look of annoyance from the woman whom birthed me.

"Obviously not if I've just asked you to fetch her." she snaps before peering down at the leg of the wounded man who now seems very close to fainting.

My teeth grind harder together in attempt to calm me slightly or at least keep my anger enough at bay as to ensure that I don't attack my mother with words I can't take back. I sigh and turn around to walk out the door, intent on finding my sister and having no clue where to start.

Thoughts of where Primrose could possibly be start flying through my mind, muddling with thoughts of Peeta and nighttime encounters and effectively driving me crazy. I feel out of control and like I'm tailspinning into ultimate chaos. There's a throbbing pain in my chest and a pounding knock in my head that is in tandem to the rhythm of my heart. I chock each affliction up to the ever increasing level of stress in my life, but it seems as though there may be something deeper and darker lurking under my rationalizations.

This is what fear tastes like. I'm certain of it. I have never once felt scared as far back as I remember, or at least not scared enough that it takes a toll on my body and its functions. I'm not stupid enough to wonder at what could possibly be causing my fear, not when there are so many things that could be at the root of the meddlesome weed. I'm terrified of losing my sister in three senses; not finding her now, losing her in the Reaping, and losing myself to the Reaping. Each possibility leaves me in a world without Prim and none sound like a life I could ever live.

Then, there's the Reaping itself. I never let on just how uneasy the whole thing makes me feel, but I not only hate the idea of children being hand chosen for death, but it completely horrifies me. If I were ever to be picked, my family would be as good as condemned to death as well because I wouldn't be around to bring home food. If Prim were ever selected, I'd just be devastated, destroyed.

Lastly, there's my confused feelings for the two boys that seem to be vying for my attention. If ever it came down to me being forced to choose between the boy with the bread and my best friend, I'd be hurting one or both. I couldn't live with myself if I acted so selfishly.

It seems like my life was in a completely different state just hours ago when I was laying in grass and sunshine. I wasn't so aware of the ever present feeling of impending doom that danced inside me. Yes, I knew it existed, but it just didn't press so forcefully against the forefront of my mind. Now, though, twisted and dark meanderings were at the helm of my conscience. I was living in a constant shroud of what ifs.

I turn to walk towards the meadow, a small field of soft green grass and dandelions and even a few patches of wild flowers. It was positioned just off the area of the fence that I crawl through to enter the woods and I had once brought Prim here to collect different plants that we could cook for food; she fell in love with it almost instantly. I don't truly expect to find her there, but I figure it would be best to check just in case. The downside of having to go to the meadow was simply that I would have to walk through the grass to find her because it was so tall that it would conceal her from my sights and that would take at the very least ten minutes of my time.

As I move through the blades of emerald, I trail my hand over the tips of the grass and let it tickle my skin just a bit. It's surreal being in the same place I may be in with a man later and the thought of it makes Peeta shine through my clouds of worry for my sister. The lingering question that stays at the back of my mind rushes forward once more and I find myself sighing in frustration as I contemplate why it is Peeta Mellark wants to convene in the weeds of the Seam.

I really wish I could get him out of my mind.

A quiet, girly moan kind of sound stirs me from my thoughts and wonderings of the baker boy. I look around the meadow swiftly, swinging my head back and forth as I survey the area to find the source of the disturbance. My senses go into high alert as my muscles tense as though I were on a hunt and it occurs to me that in a way I am hunting. I just don't know what sort of prey I'm after. The noise sounds again and it seems to be closer to my left side, so I whip around and look to the ground, trying to see through the grass. The lateness of the day isn't helping me any since the sun is vanishing over the horizon much too quickly for my standards and is taking its light with it.

I creep through the grass towards where I thought I heard the sound come from as silent as I can and very nearly trample right over a couple. I fall backwards with shock and land in the high grass, obscuring my view of the two kids twined around each other but I can still see the tell-tell blond braids that give away the girl's identity. The girl that is writhing just beneath the small frame of this unknown boy with her lips locked to his, is my twelve year old sister.

"Primrose!" I screech as I pull myself to my feet and smooth out my shirt.

Prim and whoever she was kissing spring apart and in a matter of seconds she pops up through the grass followed by the boy. "Katniss!" she exclaims in shock and embarrassment. Her cheeks flame a cherry red color and she attempts to smooth out her shirt and skirt, an outfit she normally reserves for Reaping day. "What are you doing here?" asks Prim in a high and squeaky voice.

I arch an eyebrow at her in question. "What am I doing here?" I repeat, moving closer to her. "What are you doing here? Actually, no, I know what you were doing here and I have to say that I am very surprised at you, Prim." I say darkly with a pang of hurt shooting up my ribs and further coloring my tone. "Is this why you haven't been home?" I question and at her nod my face falls, displaying my disappointment and pain. "We promised to never keep secrets from each other." I whisper sadly before looking away.

Prim moves forward as if to grab my hand, but I'm already turning away to walk home. "Katniss, I'm sorry." Her voice pains me more than her small act of betrayal, but I don't stop moving.

"Mother needs you home. She needs help with a patient." I say stoicly. I try to tell myself I don't care about what happened just now, but deep down I know I'm not angry at the situation itself, but at my sister because she neglected to tell me about a major milestone in her life. I was hurt because I thought we were closer than that.

**#THG#**

Hours have passed since I returned home with a tearful Prim. My mother asked what had happened, but neither of us felt up to explaining the entirely awkward predicament that had led to tears and angry hearts. Prim soaked up the dew drops of salt from her eyes and face and merely asked mother what she needed her to do for their patient and that was the last I saw of either of them before I holed up in Prim and I's room.

I felt terribly ridiculous for how I was treating my sister. I knew I had honestly overreacted to how I had found her and had acted wrongly by yelling and berating her when I should have been happy she found someone worthy enough of her kisses. I wanted to go down the stairs and wrap my arms around her and apologize, but I refrained. We both would find each other when we were ready to have it out about what happened. I knew it.

It was strange how much my life had seemed to have turned upside down in a mere day. I fought with Gale in the woods - a place we never bothered to fight in because it was far too peaceful, I was asked to meet Peeta Mellark by note – a boy whom I have had few interactions with, and I fought with my angel of a sister – something I have never once done since her birth. Today really couldn't get any more awful and tomorrow was bound to be worse.

That's when it dawns on me just how childish and unreasonable I'm being. Tomorrow is the Reaping, any of the people I hold dearest could be chosen and taken away from me, and I'm fighting with them. How could I let such petty and insignificant things stand in the way of spending what could be the last few hours I had with my sweet little sister or my best friend? I was acting like a spoiled child from the wealthier districts. I have seen them, watched them all my life, on screen while the Capitol shows the Hunger Games and its reruns. The tributes that come from Districts One, Two, and Four liked to act like the royalty they thought they were and were just all around revolting.

Bottom line is that I need to make this right with not only Prim, but with Gale as well.

It's been said that sisters, or really any close siblings, that share a tight knit bond can sometimes sense when the other is distraught or in need. I haven't ever placed much firm belief in the theory, finding it too fantastical to be real, but as the door to my room cracks open and Prim's petite form makes itself known in the shadows of the entryway, I have to wonder if she didn't feel that I was back in my right mind and needed to see her. It wouldn't surprise me if that was the case, Prim has always had acute senses to everything I did as she grew up. She came running to me in fear and panic the time I fell from a high tree and could barely walk and had collapsed once I made it to the meadow. Each night when I would dream of our father and explosions, she would wake me before I even had the chance to scream for him to run. No matter how horrid I could be sometimes, Prim was always at my side. Always.

"Katniss?" I hear her say as she slowly moves into the room. Her voice is unsteady and shakes with nerves and it pains me to realize she's afraid of me. Afraid that I will scream at her to leave me.

"Come here, tiny flower." I call to her, slipping in her nickname that had originated straight from the basis that she was named for a magnificently beautiful blossom. She does as I ask and crawls into bed next to me, snuggling deep into my arms and her fresh, crisp scent tickles my nose as I inhale. "I'm sorry, Prim. So sorry. I never should have snapped at you the way I did." I say to her softly as I brush my fingers over her braids, untying them as I go.

I feel her shoulders lift as she shrugs and folds further into my chest, her arms tightening around my waist. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you what I was doing, Katniss. You're my sister and my greatest friend, I should have known that it would hurt you to find out later than sooner. I was just scared of what you would say, what you would think." replies Prim. Her blue eyes disappear from the world as she closes her eyelids and sighs contentedly. "I'm glad you're not mad at me anymore." she remarks with a sad yet happy voice. "It felt weird and wrong knowing you were up here hating me."

My hand stops traveling through her hair at her words and I push her away from me just far enough to stare into her eyes as they snap back open. "You listen here, Primrose Everdeen, and listen good. I could never in all my years hate you. I was being stupid by even thinking I could be mad at you, it would be something else entirely for me to ever consider hating you. I love you, Prim. You're the only good thing I have in my life anymore." I say fiercely, tears stinging in the very backs of my eyes. How horrible does a person have to be to make such a sweetling believe she is hated? It seems I have more to makes amends for than I initially thought.

Prim stays with me for a while, telling me about Luken – the boy from the meadow – and of how she really likes him and of the way his lips felt to hers. She explains to me how he sought her out and they were constantly together whenever they could be and she had been extremely nervous every time he would look at her because she liked him and wasn't sure how he felt. Until he kissed her for the first time three weeks ago. They've apparently secretly been kissing since. Her saying all this to me makes me realize just how much older she seems to be getting just in front of my eyes and it both frightens me and makes me feel relieved that she seems to know about the world in a way.

As Prim divulges her encounters with the dark haired and stout boy, I find myself wanting t ask Prim what she thinks I should do about the Peeta situation and whether or not I should meet him in an hour. There's a break between her rushed words of excitement and I decide to go for it. "So, Peeta Mellark wants to meet me in an hour." I say as nonchalantly as I can and peer at her from the corner of my eye.

Her jaw drops open and her eyes bug from their sockets as she regards me for a quick second before she erupts into giggles and flushes. "Oh, Katniss! Peeta's so handsome!" she exclaims before covering her mouth and giggling again.

I nod my head at her in agreement. There really is no denying Peeta has a certain look to him that makes most girls want to fall to their knees. "I suppose he is." I answer while staring up at the ceiling.

"Are you going to go? Are you going to go see him?"

The question of the day. Am I going to break all my instinctual rules and go see this boy and get whatever it is he wants from me out of him? Or am I going to stay on this bed and worry my brain away with what ifs? "I don't know." I say slowly and let my head hit the wall beyond the mattress. "I'm not sure if I should."

Prim gasps and smacks my arm playfully. "Are you dumb? A pretty boy wants to see you, Katniss! I will force you out of the window if I have to make you, but you are going." she states firm as stone with her hands on her hips.

I roll my eyes and find myself laughing at her words because it didn't escape my notice that she just called the boy with the bread a 'pretty boy.' It seemed utterly ridiculous to call someone my age and a boy at that, pretty. Yet, the words seemed to fit Peeta well. He _was _pretty with his flawless skin that was stretched over defined cheekbones and a strong jaw and light rosy pink lips and, of course, his beautiful wavy blond hair that fell into the deepest blue eyes I've seen. He could honestly be a work of art or a God from the old world if he wanted.

So caught up in my musings of the enigmatic boy, I neglected to see as Prim crawled toward me with a sly grin on her face and a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. I did, however, feel as she yanked the elastic from my braid with a hard yank and then ran her fingers through my inky black hair, taming the waves of the plait. "What are you doing, you little fiend?" I yell at her in surprise and slight pain as my head is now throbbing from her rough treatment.

"I'm getting you ready to meet the baker's boy." she says as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

**#THG#**

Butterflies are fluttering at tumultuous speeds in my stomach as I walk the little way to the meadow. My nerves feel like live wires as they fuse and knit themselves together in jumbles of nervous anxiety and I feel as though my whole frame is shaking so badly I may collapse. I also feel like a clown thanks to my evil sister. Prim 'remade' me into what she thought was my best look. Not that, she had said to me when I gave a suspicious look, she ever thought I looked bad but she wanted me to make Peeta Mellark fall in love with me.

That idea truly and undoubtedly terrified me to no absolute end.

Anyway, Prim demanded that my hair fall in the waves that my braid had left behind, claiming that it made me look softer and more approachable. I glared at her and asked her what she would know about being approachable at twelve. Nonetheless, I obeyed and now had rivulets of black dancing around me and tickling my collarbone as the wind moved through my hair. Prim wanted me to wear a dress that was once our mother's years ago, but I told her to stuff it so she instead grabbed a freshly cleaned loose blue shirt that hung off one of my shoulders and had sleeves that capped off midway down my forearm. Thankfully, she let me keep the pants I was already wearing, a pair of broken in tawny colored breeches that hugged my legs in warmth against the whispering winds. My ensemble was topped off by my usual boots that laced up to about my calve.

I thought I looked weird without my braid and I honestly missed it desperately because now I felt certain that Peeta would think I was trying to impress him. I just knew he would think I loved him or some other silly notion and would call me crazy and run away. Hell, I'd run away from me if that were the case.

My mind was racing as was my heart as I neared the meadow and then it seemed as if my heart ceased beating altogether I saw him. I was quite surprised he was still here; I had been running terribly late and it near an after after midnight, but I hadn't been able to steel my nerves and had turned for home a few times before finally making it to the edge of the meadow's tall grass.

Peeta looked breathtaking as he sat in the tall blades of the grass, moonlight falling like glassy water over his blond head and reflecting off the shiny, washed strands. His face was turned upward toward the sky, eyes trained on the thousands of stars above us, and his back was to me so I couldn't see his eyes. As I silently walked through the soft grass, I felt my heart once again pick up in tandem with the rushing rivers that my veins and vessels had transformed into. Each wave of blood and thump of my heart was so loud in my ears that I had begun to wonder if the bread boy could even hear them.

A twig snaps under my boot as I step forward once more and Peeta immediately turns to look at me. The first thing I notice is that he had an expression of dire disappointment that quickly swept up into joy as he looked me over. Secondly, my eyes found the new bruise forming under his eyes and I frowned at the purplish appearance. I didn't like the idea of someone, probably his mother, touching him in such a way.

"I didn't think you would show up." he comments as he stands and dusts away the dirt and grass from his pants.

Somehow, I manage to find my voice though it seems thicker and deeper than normal when I say, "I didn't think I would either."

"Well, I'm glad you did." he replies with the softest of smiles. He slowly walks toward me and I again feel my heart leap at the closeness and smell of him because he smells like warmth and happiness, which roughly translates into baking bread and sweet sugars and spices. "Can I take your hand?" questions Peeta as he inches ever closer to where I seem to have become a statue. "I won't hurt you or anything, I just want to show you something." he further explains upon seeing that I've neglected to move or respond in any way.

I want to yell at him that no he cannot touch me because I'm scared of how I might react, how I'll feel. For that very same reason, however, I nod stiffly and slowly. I'm sure this makes me insane; doing something that seems, at all costs, wrong. He smiles at me again and I feel the butterflies flap their wings harder and faster in my stomach only to feel them erupt in fits of fluttering when he slides his rough hand into my own calloused one. His flesh, despite having been burnt from stoking the fires in the bakery, is softer than any pelt I have taken from an animal or any material my mother owns.

His fingers thread through mine and Peeta gives my hand a gentle squeeze of affection before he begins walking, leading me to some place I don't know. As we walk, I find that I quite like the feel of his hand in mine, that isn't wrong at all. It's rather wondrous, really, because he provides a sense of security and warmth that I haven't felt sense the last time I felt my father's arms wrap around my waist and raise me off the ground in a great hug.

Peeta and I begin to whisper softly about different things that range from our favorite types of bread – his being sourdough and mine being cheese bread – to how I started hunting, to which I tell him all about the great man that was named Stevan Everdeen. He entertains me with stories of his brothers' pranks on him and his retaliation against them each time. He tells me of how his own father is one of the kindest men he has ever met and I have to agree with him on that because Bannock really is the sweetest stranger I've encountered in the district – aside from Peeta.

Our walk lasts the better part of twenty minutes and as the pair of us walk into a vast expanse of field that is blocked off by the fence, Peeta tells me that once we cross the wires I need to close my eyes. I'm surprised and reluctant. I have never been in this side of the forest and I'm very taken back that Peeta has and wants to drag me through what is surely a replica of my own woods. Was this really what he wanted to show me? Surely not.

I comply regardless of my mixed feelings and allow him to steer me through the winding woods after we cross over the fence and trust him not to allow me to walk into a tree. It is completely nerve wracking to feel so blind in a place that is already dark and to trust someone you have only really just met. I feel as though I have been taken hostage in my own body as Peeta guides me to wherever it is he is so set on me seeing and I don't like it at all. I begin to wonder if we're ever to stop walking when Peeta halts my movements and brings his head down to where my ear is and as he speaks, I shiver because his lips brush against the shell of my ear.

"Open your eyes, Katniss." he whispers. Peeta removes his hands from where he had them covering my eyes and I gasp in awe as I rake my gray orbs over the beauty in front of me. Just paces away from where we stand is a break in the trees and thousands of fireflies are flying about the open area, lighting up the darkness with their glowing bodies. They're more beautiful than even the stars considering they are insects, but what really captures my attention is what is set in the midst of the flittering creatures. I've no idea what it is, but it was once shining metal that is now rusted over and has ivy growing along its' bars. "Do you like it?" murmurs Peeta, watching my face for my reaction.

I nod my head, mutely answering him. "What is it?" I wonder aloud, staring at the metal structure.

Peeta walks over to the thing in question and sits down in one of the rubber – or perhaps it is plastic – flaps that are held to the structure by two long chains. "It's a swingset. A plaything from the Old World." he answers and kicks the ground, making the chains move with a loud creaking sound. He's pushed off the ground as well, flying over the grass and it is pure amazement that races through me now as I watch. "Come here." he calls after stopping back at the ground.

I don't hesitate and nearly run to where Peeta is perched. He gets up from the swingset and motions for me to sit where he was, despite there being another seat. I do as he asks and feel his warmth just behind my back as he brings his arms around me and closes his hands on the chains on either side of me. Peeta pulls me back by the chains, emitting another groan of protest from the swingset, and then pushes me forward, sending me flying above the grass just as he had. He yells and tells me if I 'pump' my legs I'll keep the swing moving on its own and I soon realize he is right.

He moves to the empty swing next to me and soon we are both soaring through the air and belts of giggles are falling free from my mouth while he laughs along with me, creating a marvelous melody of happiness that floats around the air with the glowing fireflies. It seems magical, the place Peeta has brought me to and the things he has shown me. I feel so free and light as I laugh and swing with him and it is the most amazing and fun thing I've experienced.

The moment is ruined by an aching creak from the swingset before it shudders and mine and Peeta's chains give way. We both tumble to the ground, colliding with the hard earth with resonate thuds. I look over too where Peeta is sprawled out with chains wrapped around his arms and legs and can't help but laugh at the absurdity and hilarity that our night has brought to us. I hear his deep laugh slice through the air with mine and I'm once again struck by how smooth the two sounds seem to weave together.

"Are you okay?" I ask him after my laughter has finally died down.

I see his head bob up and down as he nods his 'yes'. "I'm fine. You?" calls Peeta, craning his neck to look at me.

I just smile and fall back into the rusted metal and grass with another laugh. "I'm perfect." I whisper. I look up to the glowing bugs above us and the stars beyond them and find that I spoke the truth. I feel absolutely perfect and content and happy for the first time in so long that I can't even sift through my memories to a time when I felt even the slightest bit of this heaven. I hear say something under his breath that I can't quite pick up on and he disentangles himself from the snares of the chains before moving to lay next to me.

We lay, silent and basking in the starlight and beauty around us for a passage of time that ticks by in the slowest yet swiftest of seconds, minutes. Peeta's hand found mine somewhere in the midst of the stillness and his thumb is moving across the skin of the top of my hand and it's sending chills and gooseflesh all over my body.

"Peeta, why did you ask me here?" I question in a hushed tone, scared that I'll break apart the beauty of the nature surrounding us if I talk too loudly.

Peeta shrugs and turns over to look at me more clearly. "I wanted to spend at least one night with you and there isn't a guarantee that I'll have many more nights after tomorrow."

He's talking about the Reaping, I can tell. I vaguely wonder if this is what the Capitol intends for every citizen of Panem spread through the twelve districts. Do they force this upon us because it strikes fear in us and keeps us all apart from the ones we hold so close? I find that I really think that's the truth. "But you're a merchant, you have like what, three slips in the lottery? You're safe." I remark.

"True, but you have at least twenty, Katniss. There's still a possibility that this was the last night I could have to talk to you, to spend with you."

"Why? Why do you want to spend time with me? You could have easily chosen any other girl from the school to share this last night with, so why would you want to spend it with me?"

"You really don't know?" he asks while moving to sit up and stare at me with wide, honest eyes. "You don't know the effect you have." He shakes his head in a wistful kind of motion.

"So, tell me." I urge him. His words served to only further confuse me and if there's anything I hate in this world besides the Capitol, it's being left out of the information loop or being the last to know.

Peeta doesn't say anything, choosing only to lean forward and drag his thumb along the line of my cheekbone in a true sign of adoration and affection. The action seems so intimate and loving that it shakes me down to my core and I find myself pulling away from the unknown feelings that have stirred within me.

"It's really late. We should go." I say as I get up to my feet. Peeta looks disappointed again, but he follows suit to my actions and soon enough we're walking home and this time we aren't hand in hand and I already miss his warmth.

**#THG#**

So, how much do you guys hate me now? It's been over a week and I come back with this shit ass chapter, you must be going wtf? I know I am and I wrote the damned thing. Bleghh. So, I've been playing with the idea of posting a playlist for this story. . I don't know though. Maybe?

Anyway, go ahead and do whatever you want in terms of reviewing. Just know, you don't have to, but I would like it if you did.

And, btdubs, I need a beta.

(:

~R.


	3. Changes

"Shh, Prim. It's going to be okay." I croon softly into my little sister's ears, smoothing back her hair as I hug her tightly to my chest. My night shirt is soaked through with tears and my hair is in a tangled knot at the base of my head that's driving me insane, but I do my best to keep from bothering with those things and instead offer what little reassurance I can to Prim. Her scream of terror jolted me awake not even ten minutes ago and I found her thrashing and mumbling unintelligibly by my side with blankets tangling around her like roots of trees trying to hold her to the ground, or in this case – to the bed.

Prim shakes her head, smearing even more tears into my shirt, and sniffs sadly. "No, it's not, Katniss. I can feel it, something bad is gonna happen today." she whispers, tightening her hold around my waist.

It's painful for me to see and feel her like this; terrified out of her mind. This was the first year that she's woken me up like this, but it's understandable considering this is the first time her name's in the Reaping ball. Other years, well all the years since she's been cognitive enough to understand the danger, she's usually worrying herself thin about the possibility of my being chosen. Now, she's fretting over her chances as well. "Listen here, little flower," I say kindly though passionately and pull away from her to search her sky stained eyes, "you won't be chosen today. You're one ballot in thousands, the odds could very well be in your favor." I would tell her there's not a reason to worry, but that would be a lie and if I ever thought lying to Gale was difficult, deceiving Prim would be ten times harder.

And why would I tell her something so transparent? There's every reason under the sun to worry about the outcome today could bring, but I can't bring myself to voice that either. I also can't force the words to tell her how I have a plan to ensure she never sees the inside of a Games arena with her own eyes, that I already decided, in the dark of night while I was sneaking back into our bed, that should she be picked, I would volunteer before they could ever even spot her in the crowd. I wasn't letting my innocent baby sister anywhere near the Capitol and its vultures that practically worshiped carnage. Consequences be damned.

It takes a few more, long, minutes before I can convince Prim to let me go and go find our mother so she can go ahead and get cleaned up. I also tell her about the cookies that Peeta gave me yesterday and promise that I'll get dressed and make her breakfast with them if she can manage a smile for me, which she does and it's one of her dimpled ones that reaches all the way to her eyes. My words and promises seem to assuage her enough to do as I bid and with one last hug and a whispered mumble of thanks, Prim's bouncing out of our room.

As I slide myself off the mattress Prim and I share, I make my way over to the small and grimy window lighting the room and sigh at the sun's position in the sky. It's late morning, somewhere along the lines of ten or maybe even eleven and I had sworn to myself that I would meet with Gale much earlier than this, but it seems my nighttime escapades with Peeta took more of my energy and time than I thought. I can only hope that Gale is still out there in the woods, at our spot, and will be in a forgiving mood when I finally make it out to him. Of course, that is if I can actually scrap together a decent breakfast for Prim and mother.

I blindly pull clothes from my night with Peeta from the floor and replace my night shirt and shorts with the same outfit from the – was it a date? – outing. In the bathroom I wet a comb and try my hand at weeding through the knotted mess my hair has become and after quite vigorously yanking through it and causing not only my scalp major pain, but my arms as well, my hair is free of knots and tangles and other such issues, making it much easier to braid over my shoulder. I don't normally take this long to get ready in the mornings, but my muscles are still slow with sleep, or rather a lack of, and my nerves are like little currents of electricity that's making me jittery and jumpy; both of which serve as reminders for why I rarely go without sleep.

Groggily and almost painfully, my legs lead me down the stairs and into the kitchen. I pass Prim and mother by in the dining area, pausing to muss Prim's pale yellow hair and earning a giggle for my efforts, I continue to the cabinet of a kitchen we have. It doesn't take me too long to get what, in our district and home, would be considered a hearty breakfast of toast and cheese and cookies ready and on the table. I limit Prim to only two cookies and only eat one myself, and secretly I think to myself that even if they tasted awful – which they absolutely do not – I would most likely enjoy them because of who gave them to me.

I'm glad that my brain is in shock from not having fully rested as it and I am used to for two reasons. The first being that I'm far too tired to make myself sick and anxious by over-analyzing what exactly happened last night with Peeta and what it means for us now and the second being that it serves as a reminder that last night was real and not just some vivid fantasy. Last night did happen and left its mark on me and my body and is shown in my sluggish movements, blurry mind, and my sore back from falling off that swingset. But I find that I enjoy the slight twinge of pain it brings me.

"Why aren't you out with Gale?"

The question itself is enough to irk my nerves, but the simple fact that it's my mother that's asking furthers my irritation tenfold. "Just haven't gotten out there yet. Why? You can't possibly fathom spending any time with me even on what could be my last day with you?" I shoot back with a hard tone and an angry glint in my eyes. It isn't a very well kept secret that me and the woman who happened to give me life don't get along very well. Practically everyone in the Seam and even a few people from the town know that Melinda Everdeen thinks of herself before her children, know that I'm more of a provider for this house than she is. She wasn't always like that though, actually, she used to be the sweetest and most caring woman I could think of, but everything that was maternal and good died along with my father. Dearest mother dried up after that and turned into a selfish creature that gave more thought to herself and her patients than her eldest child. Prim was only tolerated in her standards because my sister was so helpful and did everything asked of her. It was sickening, the way Prim would try so hard to register in our mother's life, yet never could.

"Don't talk to me like that, Katniss. I am still your mother, regardless of how you might feel of me." she snaps back with just as much anger as I had. Her blue eyes, the eyes that resemble Prim's so much but are colder and less forgiving, flash with an icy rage.

I roll my eyes and scoff at her statement. "Mother? You don't bring us food, or take the laundry to Hazelle's, or comfort Prim when she's in obvious agony. No, you're not a mother, you're little more than an adult offering supervision and keeping us out of the reaches of the Peacekeepers. Don't act like anything else than what you are." I huff. When I'm finished ranting, I push myself away from the table, grabbing my jacket from the back of my chair. "Do the dishes yourself, learn to do something useful for once." I yell back over my shoulder as I walk out the door.

I'm not exactly being fair, but there's just something about my mother that upsets me. Whenever I think of her, anger and despair roil in my stomach and bubble in my veins. I was mad, probably would always be mad, at her for checking out when my father died; the root of the anger, and I constantly find myself missing the smiling and shining woman from the early years of my childhood; the stem of my despair. I honestly wasn't sure what would become of us, if we would ever grow back together or push each other further and further away.

As I stomp down the cinder streets of the Seam, a vague idea of maybe going to the bakery, to Peeta pops in my head, but I don't know how I'll be received if I just show up uninvited. I was also very certain that his mother would scream at me and maybe even give him another thwack. Both of those seemed very far from ideal. So, no, I wouldn't go to the bakery and face the possibility of putting Peeta in harm's way. I'll wander, instead, to wear Gale may be in the woods, to our spot and spend what few hours there are before the Reaping begins with him.

My feet and legs carry me down to the meadow without my mind registering the command of action and I stop momentarily to rake my eyes over the spot where I met Peeta last night, I feel a small smile spread over my lips. He really was very sweet to me and I even thought he may have tried to kiss me at the end if I hadn't pulled away. Or, at least, that's what I let myself believe. My feelings for Peeta are still much too confusing to sort out, but I think I like the fluttery feeling that his name alone incites in my chest and stomach.

After plucking a dandelion from the plethora of them sprouting up along the edge of the meadow, I duck under the opening I created years ago and enter the outer perimeter of the woods. It doesn't even take a real thought to navigate the well trodden path through the woods to the top of the hill where Gale and I always meet. As I start coming up the green painted slope, I see him sitting in the blades of grass we were laying in yesterday, I almost immediately notice the grim scowl he's sporting and hold back a groan because I know he's angry I didn't show up sooner. This really should be a great, fun encounter.

I make my presence known to Gale as I purposefully rustle some leaves and step on a twig, snapping it as I walk to where he sits. His head turns sideways to glance at me with empty eyes as I take my place beside him. I say nothing while I look back at his face, into his eyes, but I do offer a smile to which he only turns to face the view spread out before us. Outstanding, the way I knew just how this would play out between him and I.

"So, that was either a really crappy warm welcome or an excellent cold shoulder. Personally, I like to think it's the former." I say in a teasing tone, trying to lighten the dim mood. It doesn't seem to have my desired affect though, as Gale just continues to stare into the green and brown and blue abyss and his jaw flexes in subdued anger. Deciding to drop the pretenses of being witty and charming – two things I'm not – I cut to the source of our problem and try my hand at apologizing. "Look, I know you're probably upset that I didn't come earlier, but I got held up at home with Prim. I left as soon as I could, but sorry I made you wait." It isn't much of an 'I'm sorry', but it would have to suffice, feeble as it is.

Gale exhales a sigh. "It's whatever, Katniss." he mutters, still not looking at me.

We both sink into silence after that. I'm not quite sure what's running through his mind, but as I look at him, watch him I see his brow knit together in either frustration or confusion. Slowly his face smooths out and his worry lines disappear for a moment before a look of determination sweeps across his features. His hand darts out to grab at his bag and he digs through it for a moment before pulling out a small loaf of bread and pulls into two pieces. With a small smile he offers one of the pieces to me and I take it, take his version of a peace offering.

"Thanks. When did you-"

"This morning. I swung by the bakery and gave Old Man Mellark a squirrel. If you had been here earlier as we planned, we could have eaten it while it was warm."

"Again, I'm sorry. Prim didn't sleep well and so neither did I."

"Don't worry about it, Catnip. Our tensions were bound to be higher today."

Our silence once again encompasses us and I find myself relaxing in the sounds of the woods; the birds calling to one another, trees swaying in the wind. I don't quite know what happens next, but suddenly I'm being shook by my shoulder and stirring from the black oblivion I had just dove into without realizing. Gale's smirking at me, his eyes not near as serious as they usually are.

"For a second I thought I would have to play Prince Charming and kiss you awake." says Gale and though I know he's joking I flush in embarrassment because I know he actually does want to kiss me. Everyone knows it.

I shift my body into a cross-legged sitting position and yawn tiredly. "How long was I out?" I question. I run my hand over my face as if doing so will magically erase my need to sleep. But all I manage to do is rub a bit of dirt in my eye. How wonderful.

Gale taps his chin like he's in some deep thought before turning to me with a grin. "Well, based on how long you were snoring,-"

"I do not snore." I snap, cutting across his words.

Gale's grin widens. "How do you know? You're asleep while it's happening." he counters matter-of-factly.

I frown and try to form a logical explanation as to how I would know whether or not I snored. I didn't honestly think I did, but it was a possibility. God, I hope I don't snore. "Prim sleeps with me, she'd tell me if she heard me snoring." I finally say with a grin of my own, pleased with how sure I sounded.

"Fair enough. Anyway, I'd say you were asleep for maybe an hour. I figured a little rest wouldn't hurt since you had a rough night." he answers and I have to commend him for letting me rest my eyes for even ten minutes, let alone an entire hour. "We should head back though, it's 'round noon and we need to dress in our pretty things for the Capitol." he says in a mocking voice and I find myself wondering how it is we've never been shot for the way Gale speaks out about the government of Panem.

**#THG#**

When I make my way home and into mine and Prim's bedroom, I find a pale blue cotton dress laying out on the mattress. It's one of my mother's from the days when she worked in the town with her parents and it's also very old and beautiful in its own, plain sort of way. It occurs to me, while I'm feeling the smooth though coarse fabric in my hands, that this is yet another peace offering that has been given to me today. The only difference being, I'm more cautious about accepting this particular gift than I was about taking bread.

Checking the time the clock on the wall reads, I decide against fretting over any possible hidden messages and motives that my mother has in giving me her dress. I'll have time for that later, but now I need to wash up as best I can and get ready for the Reaping.

I'm in the bathroom for all of twenty minutes, scrubbing aimlessly at my body with cold water and a old sponge. I still don't feel entirely clean, but that isn't anything new. Living in Twelve means constantly being covered in a thin veil of grime from coal dust and dirt, well living in the Seam means that anyway. I don't know if the townies have working water that warms up enough to give them a thorough washing.

After I'm done with my rinsing, I quickly slip into my underclothes before padding out of the bathroom and into my room. I stare at the dress, running my eyes over the intricate weaving of it all. I still feel funny about accepting such an extravagant gift from my mother, but I know that if I refuse, she'll be even more upset. Pulling back my pride, I move forward and grab the flimsy dress and slowly pull it over my body, swiftly doing up the buttons and tying the sash around my waist. I turn to look at myself in the fractured floor length mirror and come face to face with my mother standing in the doorway.

"I knew you would look beautiful." she says softly before moving to stand behind me, looking at our joint reflections. "I'll do your hair." Her hands move through the dark tresses of my hair, which I let out of my braid while in the bathroom. It's a matter of minutes when my mother steps back and admires her work and tells me to look. When I open my eyes, my eyebrows shoot up in astonishment; I look like a girl, a true girl that could very well live a different life and live in love.

"Wow. I wish I looked as pretty as you." I hear Prim say and turn to see her standing where our mother was just minutes earlier, in the door way. She's wearing the skirt I found her in yesterday, but she has a shirt that used to be mine when I was younger. It's the exact color of my dress and it brings out the brilliance of her cobalt eyes.

I smile warmly at her and walk towards her, pulling her into a tight albeit short embrace. "Oh no, you look better than I ever could." I whisper and my eyes hone in on her back where the tail of her shirt is hanging out. "You just need to tuck in your tail, Little Duck."

Prim laughs then and for a split second, with the smile lining both mine and mother's face, I feel like we're an actual family getting ready for a nice event instead of a broken family preparing for what will undoubtedly be an awful occasion. In school, the teachers tell us of how the Old World used to praise gods through various religions, but that in the widespread religion of Christianity and Catholicism, most people went to churches. I like to pretend that we, Prim, my mother, and I, are dressing up because we're going to pray and hope for the best as those people did. Believing that we're leaving home to ask for forgiveness and confess our sins, is a lot easier to deal with than the crushing reality that we're all filing into the Town Square to be Reaped, chosen.

Anything's better than that.

**#THG#**

The Reaping, as every citizen of District Twelve must be present, forces each possible tribute to stand in groups based on age. The older ones of us stand in roped off areas that are designated for the sixteens, seventeens, and eighteens at the front. Behind us are the next descending three years and so on and so on until it's the twelve year olds. On either sides of the kids and teens stand the parents. This year is my first year in front and Prim's first year in the back. I can't help but feel exceptionally uneasy about being so far from her during this traumatic experience, but I also know I can't do anything about it either.

I feel as though each of my senses are on high alert and are acutely aware of where Prim stands in the cluster of barely eligibles and even where Gale stands shrouded in the crowd of almost adults. The only person I haven't quite got a read on, is Peeta. Of course, I don't know him well enough to know what reading him would feel like.

"Katniss?"

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, that is what they say right? I feel his warmth on my right side and it instantly brings a smile to my face. I turn to him and find him standing there with a shy grin and simmering blue eyes raking over me. "Imagine finding you here." I say back to him with a light laugh. I earn a few glares from surrounding people because they're all most likely thinking I'm crazy for laughing at a time like this.

Peeta huffs a sort of laugh and just before he can speak again, the Capitol's anthem plays out. He turns as do I to watch Effie Trinket, District 12's Capitol appointed spokesperson, slither out of the Justice Building and onto the stage. As she walks up to the microphone and taps it to check if it's functioning, I feel Peeta's hand clutch onto mine as though life itself depended on us holding hands.

"Happy Hunger Games!" trills Effie Trinket, her Capitol lilt marring her words just slightly. "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" Out of all the districts and their spokesperson, Effie is the only one who tacks on that little gem. As if it could actually make us believe that she was offering up good luck. Minutes tick by as she drones on and on about just how much a privilege being chosen for the Games is and about how most of us, in her warped mind, should have been decimated in the Rebellion all those years ago. It's really kind of amazing how much she truly believes in what she's saying. I've been tuning out for most of the tirade she's yammering, but my ears perk up and my spine straightens when she talks about something being new this year.

"As I said before, the Capitol has a new rule for these games. It seems that we Citizens of the Capitol have finally gotten through to President Snow about how droll the Games have gotten, because this year, he is imposing a new edict!" she chirps happily, practically squealing in excitement. "This year and for future Games to come, it is decreed that two boys and two girls between the ages twelve and eighteen are to be offered as tribute in light of the nation's crimes against the Capitol."

**#THG#**

Okay, okay. I know I suck for leaving you guys waiting for an update for two weeks, but I had some major blockage with this chapter. The reason being that my last update was flamed horribly despite my warnings for how bad it was (though I did get tremendous feedback from those of who loved it) but his/her words hurt nonetheless. I don't know if you guys know what critique is, but it isn't tearing a writer down for their mistakes. That just makes us want to give up.

On a sidenote, I have something to share with you readers for being so good to me:

When I walk outta the shop

This is what I see

Katniss Everdeen a-lookin' at me

I got a burnt loaf in my hand

And I ain't afraid to throw it, throw it, throw it

I'm Peeta and you know it. ;}

Anyway, I hope you guys like this chapter!

As always, reviews would be appreciated but not necessary.

P.S, I posted a link on my profile to banners, a story banner and a chapter two meadow banner! Keep in mind though that I didn't put picture Jennifer and Josh in them because, despite how lovely they were on screen, they weren't my first choice. As it is, my first choice man isn't in my banners either as there just wasn't any good pics to choose from. Oh well, I still think they're pretty nice. Check 'em out, tell me what you think!

~R.


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